


Sarah

by stupidnames



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brick of Text, F/M, M/M, Microfic, Multi, Parental Guilt Trip, Purple Prose, Threesome - F/M/M, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidnames/pseuds/stupidnames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way they converged seemed natural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sarah

**Author's Note:**

> a slightly edited stream of consciousness short based on a sort of mash-up between main canon and TASM2 theorizing.

They scarcely touch each other when they’re all together, not for animosity, but for greater interest in him between them. Her knee will nudge his hip, or his palm will slide up her thigh to rearrange the jumble of all their legs, or their fingers will brush when they’re both trailing touches over his warm, sated body, when they’ve got him cradled between them and his face is pressed to her throat, lips burying content little moans in her skin, and his arm is slung back to hold him in place, molded along the line of his spine. When they share him it feels less like sleeping with her boss’ son, because it’s clear what they’re here for in her lack of self-consciousness when she cries out and his soft, unguarded expression when he kisses the back of his neck and pushes him into her. It’s muddier when they both go down on her, kiss each other between her thighs and take turns lapping at her vulva. When they’re all drunk on affection and young and slightly stupid and very unsafe, him looking at the two of them with mussed brown hair and raw adoration, laying down beneath her and kissing her neck, her collar, her breasts, sucking her nipples as he pushes into her from behind. He’s too big for her, a little too rough, and the next morning on the train when her thighs still ache she teases him in whispers about how does he handle it, makes him blush dark and mumble about kinda liking it like that, which she quirks her eyebrow at and mentally files away for later. They all three rejoin twice more before she forces herself to tell him that she’s leaving. Not for good, not out of spite, but just for long enough and just far away enough that she can see the devastation in his eyes. They send her off with a celebration and a heady tangle of limbs and laughter as she takes a turn as the center of their attention, yet he clings to her, clutches her against him when he cums in her. She’s tired and wet with the memory of both of them in the cab to the airport, naps intermittently during the stiff five hours of flight, finds bruises from being held too tight that will become the first thing she doesn’t tell him. From the moment she lands she’s busy, so busy she goes days until he calls, worried and neurotic, so busy the weeks sort of slip into each other and she’s too busy to eat sometimes, too busy to worry when she’s late. They’re together a lot when she makes time to Skype, both looking tired, dark circles under his eyes and tension in his smile as he beams at her, the pinch of anxiety on his brow and a strung-out tightness in his jaw as he lurks in the background. She doesn’t tell either of them about missing three months, about throwing up in the mornings, about the call to her mother that was more browbeating than comfort, that ended with her in tears. She doesn’t want to see their reactions, to know what they’d want, to find them at odds with her mother’s decision. He tells her he misses her and she doesn’t tell him she’s coming back early, that she won’t get to start the last term of the year, that even staying past winter break was the one concession she’d begged off her mom. Neither of them guess - she hides it when she shows and she will never be able to tell them. Not when she comes home in secret, to her mother’s insistence on responsibility, not when she’s alone in a hospital gown, using both their names but not recording either of them, not even until she’s falling and the wind is in her ears and she can’t see his face. Only light reflecting off lenses, light burning the night sky, ribbons of color and the smell of ozone and a final jolt that seals her secret inside her. She slips through a sliver of sky and he will never hear it from her, never see the look she would have told him with, not even know until he forces himself to face her mother, to tell her how again he’s destroyed her family. For it he’ll cry ever harder when he meets the truth that belonged to her, when he takes her in his arms and holds her. She will stare at him with deep brown eyes as he runs a hand over the tuft of her auburn hair, and he’ll never know if her father was the one who felt her mother slip through his fingers, or the one who cast her off in the first place.


End file.
